Fics like The SKY We Built

They don’t kiss—not really. They fuck. On Minho’s couch, in Seungmin’s bed, in the kitchen, sometimes in the backseat of Minho’s car after late nights that leave them too drunk on each other’s presence to pretend they don’t want more. But they don’t kiss. Not really. That was the unspoken rule. The line. The boundary drawn between pleasure and attachment, between now and never… although sometimes, they do look like a couple. Minho is cold. Quiet. The kind of man who keeps people at arm’s length, whose eyes are unreadable even when he’s buried between your thighs, lips parted in a soft gasp. Seungmin never expected to get close to him. Never expected to stay. But it’s been almost two years since they started this, whatever this is. And a year of silence and skin and shared loneliness, of Minho pulling Seungmin into his arms after, when he thinks Seungmin is already asleep, of brushing Seungmin’s hair back, of cooking breakfast wordlessly, of holding his hand under the covers but never in daylight. And Seungmin is so tired. So tired of walking of eggshells.

Fics like The SKY We Built

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